


all this hard work

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Creepy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Family Secrets, Imprisonment, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: Anduin once believed a restless spirit haunted Stormwind Keep.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	all this hard work

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O7a-hmoh6Jw) and [this](https://youtu.be/GLjSE7LcAj4).

Anduin once believed a restless spirit haunted Stormwind Keep. 

Throughout his princehood, Anduin would hear faint creaking, scratching, and groaning emanating from _within_ the walls of his home at night. In the lonely darkness of his quarters, huddled underneath his pile of blankets, he attempted to ignore the pitter-patter of phantom footsteps and hushed whispers echoing just beyond his stone chamber. It often resulted in his tossing and turning for several restless hours before exhaustion eventually robbed him of his consciousness. 

Once, in an early attempt to alleviate his fears, Anduin had made the mistake of addressing his concerns with Lady Prestor. Around a cruel, painted smile, she had simply said to the ten-year-old, “ _Silly boy. You’re hearing the naughty children we keep in the secret room. Would you like to join them?_ ” 

Anduin never mentioned the noises to another living soul. 

After King Varian’s death, Anduin discovered the rather dull reason for the dreaded clamor: Stormwind Keep had hidden passageways snaking through its exterior walls. Originally built to allow for covert escapes, in recent times, servants used them to ferry supplies in-and-out of the building without being seen. 

The notion left a bad taste in Anduin’s mouth. Not only had his employees felt the need to skitter about like vermin, it also posed a security risk in the event of a true emergency. As such, one of Anduin’s first decrees as king was that the passageways remain clear for their intended purpose. Anyone under Anduin’s employ was more than welcome to be seen and heard.

In the following weeks after Anduin’s demand, the clatter faded, faded, faded until it eventually stopped altogether. At last, Anduin found relief from the stomach-churning, sweat-inducing helplessness that had plagued him on those nights he couldn’t quite force himself to sleep, only to be met with _scritch, scritch,_ **_scritch_ **. 

Unfortunately, his anxieties made a valiant return at seeing _her_ during Genn Greymane’s Grand Ball. 

Lord Daley’s daughter was quite lovely in both dress and mannerisms. Her appearance, however, struck Anduin, sending a jolt to his nervous system. Ghastly pale, skeletal, and with stringy black locks, she took on the guise of a tormented ghost. Her toothy yellow smile appeared forced, as if she were mimicking an expression she had once seen on someone else’s lips. The lifeless grin never quite met her hollow, soulless, sunken brown eyes. 

It was... _unnerving_. 

Something was wrong. The Light flowing within Anduin’s soul called upon him to help, but with what, he did not know. Anduin knew so little about the young woman! Prior to the ball, he’d been unaware that Lord Daley even _had_ a daughter. 

Anduin needed more information, and he knew exactly where to get it. 

It took only a few, faux-casual limps towards the far wall to find a gaggle of huddling young men and women whispering her name. He approached. 

“Excuse me? May I join you?” Anduin asked as he settled into an empty space within the group. 

“Of course, of course!” they all murmured despite the invitation clearly being unnecessary. Anduin had already rooted himself among them, and he would not leave until he knew more of the girl. 

Anduin exchanged customary introductions before asking, in what he hoped was an informal, chatty manner, “What do you know of Lord Daley’s daughter? I’ve never seen her before.” 

The gossipers exchanged a knowing glance. Most of the members grimaced. Two of the younger girls, however, smirked. 

“It would be unbecoming for us to spread hearsay, your majesty,” one of the girls, a blonde in a silver gown, giggled as she cooled herself off with an ostentatious fan. “However, if you must know, she is not Lady Daley’s daughter.”

“Quite, if the rumor is to be believed, the girl is the result of a tryst between the Lord and a ...woman of the night,” the other girl, a redhead dressed in sea-green, oh-so delicately added. “Lady Daley was so embarrassed, she snatched the girl from her mother and kept her in their disappointments room.” 

_Disappointments room?_ Anduin’s eyebrow rose. 

One of the others, an emerald-eyed brunette closer to Anduin’s age - Annalise, he believed her name was - replied, “It's a tragedy really. I saw her once at a festival, although at the time the Lord introduced her as a distant relative.” 

The redhead snorted in an unattractive manner. “Yes, Lord Daley only acknowledges his daughter when it is in his best interest.” 

Anduin closed his eyes and shook his head. His index finger and thumb squeezed the bridge of his nose. After a heartbeat, he acknowledged the group again, “Wait, I’m sorry. What is a ‘ _disappointments room_ ’?” 

The group shared a wide-eyed expression. After a few slow blinks from the tiny crowd, their features softened into something neutral, if a tad somber. 

“Oh, your majesty,” Annalise sighed. “It is quite fortunate the Wrynns have always been so noble, and you have been kept ignorant of such things.” 

“You see, my king,” Johnathil, a tall, trim, amber-eyed dishwater-blonde a few years older than Anduin, began. “All our homes have had a disappointments room at one time or another. It is a place where families keep those members they don’t want to debut to the public.” 

Cold dread crawled down Anduin’s spine. His head felt as if it had been emptied of its contents. Sick horror seeped into his bones and remained there as he settled in for bed that night. 

Silence tormented Anduin, but the memory of Jonathil’s statement, said so off-handedly, was what knotted up his insides. How could such cruelty be so _trivial_ , so _mundane_ , so _normal_ it had a **_name_ **? 

Anduin’s thoughts turned to the poor girl. He prayed without words, seeking the Light’s mercy to guide her. His vain wishes led to fantasies about rescuing the girl while also abating any political fallout from the act. This only contributed to his sense of utter inability. 

In truth, Anduin could do little else but reflect on how fortunate his own circumstances were. He thanked the Light for bestowing upon him a good, honorable man for a father, one who would never keep such an awful place in his own home. 

Unless…

Unless… 

Unless...

_One night, after dinner, Anduin caught Lady Prestor sneaking an extra plate of food from the kitchens. Extra helpings weren’t odd for her, per se, but her prize was a meager pile of cold, rancid floor trimmings. It was unfit to be consumed by any human being, let alone a woman of her station. Was she truly so desperate to eat that she would resort to what amounted to animal feed?_

_“Hungry?” Anduin snorted in her direction from where he leaned against an alcove in the wall._

_Lady Prestor appeared unruffled by his presence or boyish jab; her expression remained as cool as ever. She let out a sharp laugh. “This isn’t for me. It is for your little brother.”_

_Anduin raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t have a little brother,” he giggled._

_Lady Prestor’s responding smirk was filled with terrible promise. “Yes you do. We keep him in the room for naughty children. One day, I’ll take you to him.”_

No, no, no, the cold hours of early morning always exaggerated his fears. In the bright light of day, he would feel silly for allowing that dragon’s words to affect him as an adult. She was dead, and so too were her lies. 

Except, Anduin couldn’t sleep, not without _knowing_ for sure. 

Hot shame flamed Anduin’s cheeks as he tip-toed like a criminal to the first entrance of the entombed passageway. The otherwise unremarkable wall was marked by a statue of an unidentified male priest, dressed in simple robes, extending his hand out in what appeared to be an act of mercy. Anduin pulled on its outstretched fingers. Without further action, the statue made halting, rattling motions to reveal the unlit corridor it kept hidden behind its back. 

Trepidation held Anduin in place. It took every ounce of his willpower to push through his distress and take the first step into the inky black shadows …

Then another…

Then another...

Then another until the muted light from the mouth of the corridor disappeared altogether. Anduin conjured a small lantern of Light into the palm of his hand, illuminating his darkened path. He continued on. 

Over the course of a small eternity, Anduin came across a few mice, some cobwebs, a rather sizable crack he would need his masons to inspect, but nothing else that was remarkable in any way. Exasperation with his own self rose from Anduin’s tummy. 

Of course Anduin discovered damn all! Varian would never lock a family member away, no matter the situation! He had had a fierce, protective love for those he carried in his heart. Any child, legitimate or otherwise, would not be exempt from that affection. To consider otherwise was an insult to his memory. 

Furthermore, the very existence of another Wrynn child was a laughable idea at best. Anduin remembered, with crystal clear clarity, asking Varian why he never took on another wife. Varian had informed his inquistive pre-teen, “ _I wouldn’t pose that kind of risk to you or your rule. Siblings have been known to become blood-thirsty when tempted with a seat of power._ ” 

If Varian had kept himself lonely for such a reason, Anduin doubted he would have sought forms of pleasure that could result in a bastard. 

Anduin let out a hot breath through his nose and contemplated hiking back to his quarters. _Mm, but I’m already here._ And completing his trek would wear down the last of his restlessness while also defeating any demons of uncertainty lurking in his subconscious. For all of his endeavors, he might get a rare few hours of complete oblivion. 

Anduin pressed on, his footsteps echoing against stone...until…

...until Anduin came across a rotted wooden door. 

Anduin’s stomach dropped. His lungs burned. The beat of his heart grew faster and faster. A thousand thoughts raced through his brain. _It couldn’t - no, this is an abandoned pantry, perhaps?_

Much to Anduin’s dismay, despite the advanced petrification of the door, he found it to be locked and firm. No amount of shouldering or kicking forced the room open. He needed to find the key. 

Quivering fingers worked over the masonry near the door; if there was one thing he could count on, it was the laziness shared between human and dragon kind. As predicated, above the door, he felt a stone unburdened by concrete. Wiggling it to-and-fro, he worked the stone off of the wall with a small bit of struggle until it fell to his feet with a reverberating _crack_. Reaching into the crevice it left behind, he grasped cool metal. 

The key was small and rusted, yet it carried a heavy weight. Anduin’s quaking hands struggled to bring the Light-damned thing to the lock. Heavy, near-sobbing pants puffed from his lips. His chest _ached_. 

Anduin summoned the last dredges of his courage and turned the key. The door unlocked with a mighty, resonating boom. He grasped the handle, bracing himself as he pulled it. 

Light! The smell...it was absolutely horrid! Only the acrid aroma of a sun-baked battlefield could compare to this. And it was so concentrated in the unventilated space! The pungent scent infiltrated his nostrils and settled into the deepest recesses of his body. 

But what brought him to his knees to retch…

...what sent tears flowing to his eyes…

...what made him want to turn around, run, and never look back …

...were the deep, rust-colored scratches engraved on the other side of the door. 


End file.
